The Violet Digitalis
by platonicplatypus
Summary: I can't stifle the smile that emerges. It's ridiculous. It's pathetic. DISCLAIMER: I do not own Trigun.


**Author's Notes:** I'm not sure where this came from, but I like it. I hope you do, too. :]

Huzzah for more Trigun love~~

* * *

**The Violet Digitalis**

"So," he turned to me, "do you think you can handle that, or am I going to have to toss you aside like the others?"

Hands balled into fists, I feel myself tremble beneath his stare, not daring to look away. I offer a single nod and he chuckles in reply, making for the door.

"Good," a smirk plays upon his lips. "Just make sure he doesn't," he pauses, musing, "die, or something. We wouldn't want anything like that to happen, now, would we?"

* * *

It's been four months since he brought me here. Four long, grueling months, stuck in this place, wherever it is on this destitute planet. It's not that I resent him for it, in fact, I'm probably much better off. The only real complaint I have is the desolation of it all. There seems to be no one here, only the occasional visit from Legato, the only person I've met. I know he's a ruthless man, incapable of compassion, but his loyalty to the one he calls "Master" is ardent.

Let me explain something, however. As a nurse, I've seen many gruesome scenes, and I've seen miracles happen before my eyes. But this man, this "Master," I've never seen anyone like him. Within mere days of observation, he'd begun to heal rapidly, far greater than the average human. But was he human? This abnormal healing process, the unscathed bones and tissue, even his lack of bruising. Nothing lines up. Genetically altered? What is he? Or who, rather?

I've come so close to this man, and yet I know absolutely nothing about him.

Letting out a sigh, I return to my seat with a meal of tuna on rye and a tall glass of water. I find myself staring again. He's been placed back within his glass imprisonment; wires protruding every which way, while a monitor beeps steadily, continuously surveying his vitals.

His features are firm, with high cheek bones and a slender nose. His mouth is a thin line of idleness. His eyes, which I know only because I've inspected them, are cobalt, meshing perfectly with his fair skin and short, blonde locks. I watch as his chest heaves once, returning to it's normal, rhythmic pattern. It wasn't but a month after recovery that he'd begun breathing on his own again. Thinking of this, I can't stifle the smile that emerges. How could I have become trapped within this imbroglio with a person I haven't even met? How can his milestone of triumphs be my daily pick-me-ups? It's ridiculous. It's pathetic.

I catch myself staring, yet again. Walking toward him, I bring my palm to the glass. His brow twitches incessantly for a moment, his visage writhing, before he relaxes. I wonder if this is the only peace he's had, or ever will have. Or perhaps this is a torture for him. I shrug off the thought, and return to my sandwich, chewing on, not only it, but these plaguing concerns.

* * *

His eyes flutter open, if only for a moment, and I find myself wanting to leap forward, to rattle the glass so he'll awaken and release me from this dystopia.

It's been a week. A week since Legato visited. A week that "Master" has been consistently twisting and fidgeting. He seems to be ravaged by nightmares, having kicked, yelped, and cursed within his confines, all while incoherent. This, in turn, has made his vitals skyrocket, and sent me over the edge, running to him at every minute fluctuation.

I'm suspecting that he'll wake any day now. Any moment. And as our time dwindles, I find myself saddened by the fact. I know it's silly, and rather disdain, but I know, without a shadow of a doubt, I'll miss him. Though he's not been much for company, he was the only company I had. And though I do not know him, I find that I want to stay.

But Legato would never let me. I'm spent.

We've since opened his case, leather fastenings now restraining him. Tightening the band about his forearm, I watch as the veins rise and swell, awaiting penetration. I slowly drive the needle in, holding fast as he tenses; jaw clenched, hands grasping at the sheet. I know it only hurts more when he resists, but he doesn't seem to care. Being comatose through the pain must be easier than being coherent. But this time, he does not relax. He does not retreat back to his usual picturesque.

The intravenous feed within his right arm is torn away as he reaches for my collar, thrusting me downward to face him. His stern glare boring into mine of terror, I dare not look away, dare not move. Struggling to keep my breathing even, I silently begin pleading with him. After nearly a full minute of deadlock, his grip loosens, and he falls back into sleep. It must be the medication, perhaps it triggers his adrenal glands.

I stagger away from him as a faint chuckle permeates the silence. "I'll never understand you, vermin." Legato's tone is monotonous as he strides toward me. I can't help but note that, after all this time, he still refers to me with his own degrading form of a pet name. "Well, out you go," he gestures toward the door. I realize what this means, and I cry out, forgetting my place.

"No, I refuse to leave! This man," I point, "needs more time! He needs to be watched day and night, or else he-"

I'm met by a palm swiftly colliding with my cheek. The throbbing intensifies as I cower before him, a helpless vermin. "Don't think I don't know what's been going through that little head of yours. I believe you've developed a soft spot for our Master," he mocks provokingly. "Well, my only advice to you is to stop wasting your time. You're far too interesting to delude yourself with these pathetic insinuations. You've been granted the option to live, so I suggest you take it, because I'd hate to find you bemusing life away with these misconceptions."

Scrambling to my feet, I look to the floor, knowing he's right. How could any of my solitary feelings be reciprocated? My eyes damp with tears, and teeth clenched, I make for the door. I've no belongings to pack, no home to return to, but I've everything to look back on. For weeks I'd wanted to be released from this place, to dwell in the sunlight once again. But now, as I walk toward what I'd longed for, I wince with seething tumult. Would he recall my face? The one he'd looked upon with smoldering condemnation?

"Oh, and Collene," Legato beckons, and I turn back, meeting his gaze. "Stop sniveling, if you will. It's not very becoming."

Heaving a sigh and stifling my hiccups, I reach for the knob. His eyes are opening, peering through heavy lids. His murmured words are inaudible. Pressing through the threshold, I beg that our meeting has not been in vain.


End file.
